


The Routine

by TwilightToMidnight



Series: Breaking the Habit [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Collars, Dominant Draco, Eventual Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Lucius and Narcissa later, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rough Sex, Sexual Tension, Smut, Submissive Hermione, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:27:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22434139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwilightToMidnight/pseuds/TwilightToMidnight
Summary: Hermione Granger lives her life by a strictly set schedule. Wednesdays are for parental dinners, Fridays for catch up with the girls, Sundays for brunch with the boys and every 2nd weekend of the month, to be Draco Malfoy's 48 hour submissive.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: Breaking the Habit [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1614376
Comments: 21
Kudos: 357





	The Routine

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that I wrote this at 3 am and what started as a little idea ballooned into 12,000 words of absolute filth that likely needs a good bit of proofreading which I am too delirious to do. It was actually going to be even longer but I think this is quite enough for a one shot.
> 
> You have been warned. Completely filthy, NSFW, consent always implied but sometimes blurred by fantasy.
> 
> I need sleep.

Hermione Granger, one third of the golden trio, brightest witch of her age, Gryffindor heroine and best friend to Harry Potter, the chosen one and Ronald Weasley, keeper for the Chudley Cannons, lived a life of strictly regimented routine. She rarely strayed from her set schedule and made exceptions only for the biggest events in her life like a loved one’s wedding or a commemorative memorial for the 2nd Wizarding War at the Ministry.

Monday to Friday, at 7:55 am, she would arrive via floo in the lobby of Marlowe’s, auction house and museum. By 8:00 sharp, she would arrive at her private office on the 9th floor, pick up her black double shot expresso from her secretary and tuck a handful of correspondence beneath her left arm. At 12:30pm, she would leave her office and head to the 2nd floor company cafeteria where she greeted Phyllis the lunch lady, ordered the Caesar salad and soup of the day. She would spend 25 minutes at her quiet corner table ingesting her lunch before returning to her office again, picking up her afternoon correspondence, tucking them under her left arm, before resuming her work at precisely 1:00pm. At 5:00 pm, she left her office with some last instructions for her secretary and would arrive home via floo at 5:05pm sharp.

The evenings from her arrival home to 6:00pm, Hermione left as casual free time for personal letters, leisure related reading or to groom Crookshanks whenever he allowed. From 6:00 to 7:00pm, she cooked and ate dinner. From 7:00pm onwards, she would settle in to review upcoming cases for Marlowe’s – files detailing recent finds in antiquities and art – whether they needed to acquired for preservation or sale onto private buyers. By 10:00pm, she would have written several letters for her ministry liaison, Hannah Abbott, regarding which artefacts needed urgent acquisition and many other letters for her private dealers. From 10:00 until 11:00pm, Hermione performed her evening ablutions and slept at precisely 11:00.

Every Wednesday evening, Hermione apparated to her parents’ home for dinner from 7:00 until 9:00 pm. Every 2nd Friday evening, she met Ginny, Luna and Hannah for a catch up drink at the Leaky.

Saturdays were reserved for attending the Weasley weekly luncheons, Saturday evenings to attend Ron’s Chudley Cannons Quidditch games. Sunday mornings were for brunch with Harry and Ron and the rest of the day for domestic matters like cleaning, laundry and grocery shopping.

Hermione knew that Molly worried about it, the way she seemed unable to stray from her routine without some degree of disconcertion. She’d mentioned it frequently in the past, though less so now that Ron and her had decided to stop dating. Harry also seemed concerned though was hesitant to discuss it with her. If her colleagues noted it, they seemed to chalk it up to her meticulous nature and admired her organisation. Her parents had stopped mentioning it all together after one particularly bitter argument had resulted in her not coming to Wednesday night dinner for over a month.

Hermione knew it seemed odd to the rest of the world but after years of chaos at Hogwarts culminating in a war, she found that nothing comforted her quite like knowing exactly how her week was to be structured. It wasn’t like she couldn’t stray from it; it was simply that she preferred not to. Deep down she knew this was what muggles referred to as a coping mechanism likely for unresolved psychological trauma from the war, but Hermione didn’t think it was so harmful that it warranted change in any fashion. She was working her own way through it and that was why once a month, the 2nd weekend of each month, Hermione sought her own form of catharsis, counselling if you will.

Her friends seemed to notice too. That after one of these weekends away, she often seemed more relaxed, smiled more and seemed less inclined to become frustrated when an attempted acquisition didn’t go her way. When they asked what she was up to during that particular weekend, Hermione would always tell them about the small antiques market in Etretat, France and the dealer she had met there who would bring her the most unique of artefacts to add to the museum’s collection. They stopped asking after a few months and simply accepted that for some reason, Hermione found business trips relaxing.

So thus, it was with considerable anticipation that Hermione finished up her work week at precisely 5:00pm on that Friday evening, asked Charlene to file away the dossier for the Laskaris Mosaics and floo’d home.

Dropping her bags at the foot of her bed, Hermione shucked her formal work robes and stepped into a simple pair of muggle jeans and a knit jumper. She ran a brush quickly through her tangle of curls and brushed her teeth. Knowing the routine, Crookshanks wound around her ankles before climbing obediently into his carrier, ready for when Hermione exited her bathroom, pulling on a thick wool coat to guard against the frigid winds in the north of France in January.

Tucking her wand in one deep pocket, she picked up Crookshanks’ carrier and stepped back into her fireplace. The floo spat her into the lobby of the Ministry a moment later and Hermione dusted her coat off even as she hummed at the disgruntled Kneazle who despite months of doing this, had never seemed to acquire a taste for floo travel. She made her way to the department of Magical transportation on level 6 and made a sharp left as soon as she exited the lifts, intent on her familiar path.

The large office of Portkeys was busy as it always was on a Friday evening. Frazzled looking ministry officials ushered wizards and witches into numerous queues under archways marked with various destinations, not unlike a muggle airport. Identification papers were checked, luggage tagged and crackling announcements floated overhead announcing the impending departure of Portkeys.

“Ms. Granger.” One such official nodded at her. “You 6pm portkey to Paris is running on time. If you’ll come this way, I will check you in.”

Having done this for countless months now, Hermione was glad for the streamlined process instead of having to wait in line. She handed over her documents and once verified, was shown into her designated departure room where several others were already waiting. A young couple with two weekend bags looked up at her and smiled politely, a businessman continued reading the Prophet and ignored her entrance and a mother with a fussing infant was trying to juggle a bottle of formula, a pacifier and a nappy bag. Hermione joined their semicircle, reached out and loosely gripped the the silver hoop everyone else had a hold of and looked down to ensure she had Crookshanks’ carrier firmly looped around her left arm.

At precisely 6pm, a firm tug at her navel and a rush of wind pulled Hermione from the British Ministry into the arrival rooms of the Ministere des Affaires Magiques de la France. Her small group of travellers had all their travel documents checked once more and were then allowed on towards the apparition points or the exit to the ministry.

Hermione settled Crookshanks on her hip and pulled her wand from her pocket, apparating them away. They reappeared just as frigid gust of wind blew past and nearly knocked her to the ground. The kneazle in the carrier let out a furious snarl at the sudden cold and proceeded to kick up such a fuss that Hermione nearly dropped the carrier.

“Shush Crooks. We’re nearly there.” She stroked his head through the door of the carrier before she pulled her coat more tightly around her frame. She stepped onto the winding drive before her and made her way further up the hill towards the set of imposing gates a few more feet before her. Heart starting to pound in her chest, she touched her hand to the cool bars.

There was a pause before the metal beneath her hand warmed and seemingly melted away, allowing her to step through the opening. Without looking back, she started up the winding gravel path, eying the castle in the distance. A pop to her right alerted her to another presence.

“Miss.” The familiar house elf greeted her with a small smile, her thin body cloaked in a fine cotton shift. Hermione took the bony proffered hand and allowed herself to be transported straight into the much warmer environs of the entrance hall.

She set down Crookshanks and opened the door of his carrier. “Off you go.” He sprang from his confines and wandered away, glaring at her balefully, his fur standing on end even as he rounded the doorway and disappeared from sight. Hermione sighed watching her familiar’s retreating form but soon forgot all about it when she felt a tug at her coat. She smiled down at the elf and shrugged off the coat, handing it off to be hung up.

Stepping forward, familiar with the layout of the castle, Hermione swallowed the mounting excitement in the pit of stomach and made her way through the entry hall to the grand staircase. She ignored the opulence of the room, the gold ornaments, the sparkling crystal chandelier and the family portraits who either stared blatantly or pointedly ignored her presence.

Laying a hand on the bannister to steady both her physical form and her nerves, she ascended the grand imposing staircase, following it as it forked off to the left into the 2nd level gallery filled with yet more priceless antiques which would have awed her at any other time. This wasn’t her purpose here however and Hermione forced her steps to continue instead of stopping to admire the magnificent Rubens which hung only inches to her right.

Even as the butterflies in her chest multiplied and threatened to burst from her skin, she forced herself to take slow measured steps down the next corridor, counting the doors to her left until she came face to face with the dark oak of the 5th one.

Hermione hesitated only a moment, taking a fortifying breath of air, before she turned the ornate knob and allowed the heavy wood to swing forward. The room was dark, mostly lit by a fire crackling to her right in the grand, sunken fireplace. She knew in the day time, the ceiling was close to 20 feet high and the walls lined endlessly with enough ancient books to make her hands itch and mind whirl in delight though now they were cast in shadows.

At the end of the room before her, a heavy set desk obscured her view of a man who was bent over countless scrolls of parchment, scratching away with an eagle feather quill. He didn’t look up even as Hermione stepped into the room and closed the door with a firm click. This, quite surprisingly did not annoy her, she knew the routine far too well to complain.

A small fragile looking side table sat to her left in the doorway and Hermione retrieved her wand, laying it within the waiting case, closing its lid before she toed off her practical trainers, neatly aligning them on the floor beneath. Fighting against her increasingly shortening breaths, she reached up to the hem of her jumper and pulled it over her head. As was habit, she folded it neatly and set it next to the wand case. Her jeans, socks, bra and panties followed, each laid atop the table until she was shivering and bare.

Excitement and anticipation roared in her ears like an unsettled sea and she needed to force her bare legs to move as she crossed the room towards the fire. The skin of her inner thighs brushed with each step, sending waves of heat across her body as she unsteadily sunk onto the carpet, pointedly ignoring the two armchairs which she could’ve sat in.

Her legs folded beneath her, hands, palm up, rested at her sides, she glanced in the direction of the man at the desk and jolted, her heart leaping into her throat, as her gaze met his. He said nothing but continued to stare even as Hermione felt her heart speed up to an unsustainable pace, sure he could see the nervous flutter of her pulse at the junction of her neck.

As he continued to stare, Hermione tried to ignore the heat of the fire on the side of her face, tried to contain the short, sharp breaths which made her chest heave and moved her breasts just enough to make her nipples ache. She clenched her thighs, feeling the warmth seeping south even as…

He pushed his chair back from the desk, remaining seated.

Hermione knew that signal only too well. Quivering with both need and mounting anxiety, she leaned forward and fell onto all fours, crawling her way across the rug, then the hardwood floor until she could round the corner of the elaborately carved desk. He parted his legs to allow her into the nook beneath the wood where she settled on her knees, ignoring the cold press of the floor into her joints.

She took a deep breath in through her nose, catching the scent of hundreds of years of knowledge and the darker, masculine scent of his cologne. Her eyes were exactly level with the straining bulge behind the zipper and she salivated knowing what was coming.

She whimpered and clenched her thighs; there was a slickness between them now. A hand stroked across her hair and Hermione dared a glance up.

Turbulent grey eyes met hers. Blond hair, almost silver in the moonlight which framed him from the window behind his chair, fell across his brow as his lips curled in a faint smile. “Hello, pet.”

A familiar cold band encircled her neck as he spoke. Hermione didn’t need to look down to know the silver chain-link collar. She was as familiar with it as her her own skin. “Master.” Malfoy. She glanced down demurely, hands fisted in her lap.

“Will you be good for me this month? Or do we need to be taught our place again like the last?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

Hermione tensed and pushed back the flush of heat which threatened to engulf her. She let out a small gasping whimper, tongue darting out to wet her dry lips. “I will be very good this month, master, I never intended to disappoint you.”

She could hear the smile in his voice, even though she couldn’t see it. “I know you didn’t, pet.” The hand resting in her hair gave her a firm tug. “You should show me how good you intend to be.”

Not needing to be told twice, Hermione anxiously leant forward and put her cheek to his hardened cock, just beyond the fine fabric of his trousers. She nuzzled it eagerly, keening when slick heat started sliding down her thighs. In mounting desperation, she pushed the head of his cock away from the seam of his fly and latched onto it through the thinner fabric to the side. She wet the dark fabric with saliva until she heard his gritted voice once more.

“You may use your hands.”

Hermione’s hands darted up instantly. They shook in her line of sight, fumbling to catch the zipper and lower it, undoing the buttons with clumsy tugs. She plunged her hands in, grasping the hot column of his cock and manipulated it out of its fabric confines.

Malfoy hissed but didn’t comment on her clumsy movements.

In the moonlight and the faint glow from his desk lamp, his cock looked dark and imposing. There was a faint glisten of fluid at the tip which, as she watched, grew and started to track down the side of the rounded head. Almost before knowing her actions, she shot forward and licked it away, letting the bitter, salty taste linger on the tip of her tongue until she swallowed and let her saliva wash it away.

He waited as she let out a shaky breath, reached into his open fly and freed the flesh beneath his cock, holding the tense sac of his balls. She tongued the warm, musky skin, circling the bulging veins and creases of skin until he pushed her away, grasping her the hinge of her jaw until her mouth was forced open. “Don’t tease, Pet. You said you would be good this month, remember?”

She didn’t get a chance to answer before he pushed his hard cock between her lips, sliding the entire length of him into her until he hit the back of her throat, her nose pressed against him, saliva slicking the space between her chin and his balls. Panic flushed through her for an instant as she struggled against his hold but months of experience taught her to pull her mind back, breathe through her nose and extend her tongue against him to lessen the reflex to gag.

He held her there, impaled, until her mind calmed and her hands stopped digging crescents into his thighs where they had landed.

“That was very good, pet.” He praised as the hand in her hair eased her off him slowly.

Already dreading the loss, Hermione hollowed her cheeks and sucked until he hissed and pulled her off with a rough yank in her curls.

“Don’t be greedy.” He admonished. “There’s time enough for that.”

Hermione wasn’t sure she could wait. Her heartbeat was pounding both in her chest and in her pussy. There was a thick layer of arousal coating her mind through which she could barely register the words he growled at her. Like swimming through syrup. She was sweating despite the cool room and she could barely drag her eyes off the ridge of thick flesh which pointed directly at her as if trying to remind her of what it could do and how easily he could shred her will to slivers.

“You can wait.” He said as if to counterbalance her thoughts. “The reward is sweeter if you wait, pet.”

“Put it inside me please, master.” A whimper escaped her lips as the image flashed into her mind just as the words slipped through.

His smirk said it all as he shuffled his hips forward, allowing the tip of his cock to rest on her bottom lip, painting a faint trail of precum on her and as her tongue slipped out to seek it, he moved the tip so it dragged across her cheek before landing again on her lower lips. She tried to purse her lips to suck it but like before, he grasped her jaw and forced her mouth to gape open.

He eased his cock in this time, teasing with shallow thrusts, never allowing her to suck him though she desperately danced her tongue along the underside of him until he threw his head back and hissed.

“Fuck.” He pulled away and dropped her face from his grip. One hand still clenched in her hair to keep her away, his free hand dropped to the base of his cock, encircled it and squeezed while his breath heaved in his chest. It took him only seconds but he seemed to visibly calm before her eyes, the flush in his cheeks receding as the expression in his eyes hardened. “Strike one.” He growled to her.

An almost nauseating thrill swept through Hermione at the words. She dared a glance into his face just as he released her hair and pushed back his chair to stand. For a minute, he stood over her, the fabric of his trousers, barely clinging to his hips, brushing her shoulder as he leant forward, meticulously tidying away the scrolls on his desk, until every last parchment was filed and locked away. She watched as his ink stained fingers screwed the cap of the ink bottle into place and set his eagle quill into its holder.

Catching her staring, he crooked a finger, indicating she should stand. With shaky legs, she followed his directions, belatedly remembering to keep her eyes downcast until permitted to look up.

“On the desk.” Hermione shivered at the words and made to turn towards the desk.

“On your back.” The words lashed her and she froze for a moment, stealing a glance at his firmly set lips before darting her gaze downwards again. She felt the edge of the desk behind her with her hands and planted them as she boosted herself onto the cool surface of the wood. She shuffled back a few inches to gain a more stable seat but his hands darted forward and clamped onto her waist, pulling her towards him. She fell against the desk with a thump, her back pressed against cold wood, her breath knocked from her lungs as she felt her arse come precariously to the edge. He grasped her ankles, lifting her feet to plant them either side on the desk as she squirmed to get comfortable.

He pulled his chair forward and sat. Right there. Between her legs. She watched as the steady throbbing between her legs turned from warm heat to an almost unbearable burn. She waited for him to touch her, lick her, anything, but Malfoy just stared, meeting her eyes and steeping his fingers before him. Desperation licked at her mind and Hermione wondered if she was even allowed to beg.

His hand sought hers before she broke. He guided it down between her legs and laid her fingers there at the crux of her thighs. “Show me.”

Hermione froze in confusion. They had never…never done this before. He had done a lot to her. Always guided her exploration of her body. Had made her watch him explore her but never this. Malfoy seemed to expect her hesitancy because he leant forward and almost reverently, kissed the backs of those same fingers. “Go on.” He kissed the tips of her fingers again, lips slightly parted and brushing the flesh beyond.

She let out a keening whimper, hips canting towards him as her right foot slipped. He caught her ankle reflexively, replanting her foot where it was before. “Show me where you want me.”  
  


Desperation warred with shyness but Hermione could no more help herself than she could when this all began. She let her fingers slide further down, shamefully slicking them on the fluids which pooled there and cooled in the night air. She fumbled and paused, not knowing what to do…should she…maybe if she just put her fingers in and…

Malfoy sighed, running a hand over her thigh, inspiring a trail of goose bumps in its wake. Her muscles there quivered as his hand squeezed. “You need to pay more attention during our lessons, pet. Else, why do you come here?”

“I’m sorry master.” She squirmed as his hand left her. “I’m a good pupil, I swear it.”

He smiled at her, almost innocent, charming. “I know you are, pet. So show me.”

She closed her eyes. Steeled herself for...a hot puff of air dance across her fingers and she almost jumped off the desk. It tickled her flesh and warmed her in anticipation. Her fingers involuntarily tensed and pushed against herself. They sunk a little between the slicked lips.

His groan echoed across the room. “Yes.” He hissed. “Go on, pet.”

Emboldened, she pressed against herself harder, the pressure sending a dizzying jolt of heat straight through her. Urgently, she fumbled to part herself, seeking the same bundle of nerves Malfoy had shown her time and again, showing her exactly how sensitive she could be. She accidently, roughly, brushed it and cried out, fingers retreating then almost like she had no control over them, they returned to seek it again, parting the slick lips until she could find her clit unerringly even with her eyes clenched shut and her hips rocking.

She should be embarrassed, she knew. She could feel his eyes on her. Burning as they watched her fingers flick and circle swollen flesh in frantic need. However, she didn’t think she could stop now, even if all his house-elves started crowding the room. The burn of pleasure was coiling in her pussy, about to snap and send her into oblivion. Her walls clenched and held, pushing out another gush of fluid which slicked her fingers further.

“Look at you.” His voice was reverent, his cheek pressed against her thigh as he watched her fingers. “This is what you were born to do.”

Hermione could barely hear his words. She reached down blindly with the other hand, intent on filling the emptiness he refused to fill. Her fingers were fumbling through the swollen folds when his hand grasped her wrist and tugged it away.

“Bad pet. Did I say you could do that?” He looked peeved. Reprimanding. “This pussy belongs to me. You touch it only how I say you can, understood?”

Hermione nodded even as he gave her a stinging slap, palm to pussy, pushing her own fingers harshly against her clit. She screamed, instantly descending into shaking orgasm. She felt her thighs tense, her legs dropping off the desk, her toes curling even as slick hot pleasure rolled through her, unrelenting. She shook and cried as it squeezed her and contorted her body on his desk.

She was dizzy when her eyes opened, vision unfocused but she could see he was frowning at her. “Strike two.” He hissed.

Hermione felt the sweat cooling on her body as she struggled to sit up, the languid haze fading quickly. “No, master.” She reached for his sleeve. “That was unintentional.” The lips of her pussy met cold wood and she hissed, instantly easing back.

His expression softened. “This is your own doing. So rough with what’s mine. Now look,” He pushed her onto her back again, pushing her thighs wide, “look at how swollen you are. You…”, his smile curled the corner of his lips, “you need to learn what such rough treatment means to this flesh.”

Ropes of dark leather shot out from the embellished edges of his carved desk and latched with sharp slaps around her thighs, pulling her wide open as she struggled and whimpered. She couldn’t get the balance to sit up but she reached for him in supplication until more straps wrapped unerringly around her wrists, pulling them apart too. She could now only arch her back as she struggled.

“Shh…oh there now, pet. Settle down. I’m only going to teach you a very simple lesson. Good girls get cock…” He punctuated his words as he leaned forward and slid his clothed upper body across her chest, brushing her straining nipples with the cotton of his shirt. Below, his cock aligned with the lips of her pussy and he rubbed the length of himself through her folds, up, down, up, down until…

Hermione screamed when the ridge at the head of his cock caught her clit. She bucked wildly, trying to get him to her entrance, to align them just right so she could slide him in before he could resist her.

He pulled back instantly as if he could hear the train of her thoughts. He placed a heavy hand on the centre of her abdomen and pinned her canting hips. “…bad girls, well, they get something else.” Something thin and cold slid into her pussy. She had a moment to wonder what it was before he whispered a command.

Vibrations exploded inside her. His wand. He’d put his wand inside of her and he was watching her as she froze with the realisation that she was sensitive. Hypersensitive after her stolen orgasm. Her body hadn’t come down from the last high and it was already trying to barrel towards another.

His smile turned into a smirk. “Since you like orgasms too much to obey your master, well, let the punishment fit the crime.”

Hermione renewed her frantic tugging against her bonds. They had a little give, enough to let her pull, not enough to reach down and free herself of the vibrations. There was already a sharp edge to the pleasure it was causing and as she struggled, it shifted the wand so it dug upwards and lodged there. Something inside her snapped. Stinging pleasure clutched her and Hermione screamed, contorting as much as the bonds would let her.

She panted in desperate sobs, tense until the wave faded, coming back to herself enough to register the still present pressure in her pussy like the flesh pulled too tightly across bone, making her frantic to escape.

Malfoy returned his hand to her abdomen and pressed her writhing body down once more. He leaned close to her, where the wand sat, and whispered another command.

“No, Master, no!” The wand swelled inside her, so thick, to the point she was sure she would tear open if it kept expanding. It stopped only for her to realise the snug fit meant the vibrations touched every raw nerve inside her. Malfoy met her eyes with a benign smile before the burn exploded like a starburst in her core.

She must’ve lost her voice screaming because when she could think again, her mouth was open, gasping silently. He was absently brushing his thumb across her cheeks. She vaguely noted the wetness at the corner of her eyes and in her hairline. Her focus slowly returned to her and bounced straight back to her pussy. “No. Oh Merlin…” Her body started to make that climb again, the thickness inside her stopping her from even clenching, so tight was the fit. Unintelligible, guttural noises filled the room, spilled from her lips, grunts so animalistic Hermione doubted she could even recognise her own voice.

She realised his tongue was on her. Gliding across her clit. “I’ll help you, pet.”

Fire. There could be no other description. Her body curled in on itself as he released the bonds. She’d lost control of her arms, couldn’t remove the torturously pleasurable invasion between her thighs even if she could muster the memory of it being there or what it was doing to her. It engulfed her, shaking her to her bones, searing itself into her consciousness until the convulsions faded, her body too tired even to respond further and only then, did she feel the wand inside her shrink, being slowly removed from her clinging flesh.

He stroked her hair and whispered soothing words into her ear, dusting her cheek with his lips until she returned, her eyes going from open and unseeing to meeting his. She reached down clumsily, her limbs as unsteady as a new foal’s, touching painfully sensitive flesh until she pulled away with a hiss, needing to make sure that it was gone. “Master.” She croaked, throat dry. “I was bad, master. I didn’t ask your permission. I’m going to be good, I swear it, I…”

The roar of the floo cut away her words.

Malfoy shot up straight, aiming an annoyed look at his fireplace. “What the fuck…”

“Malfoy!” A voice boomed, the burning coals in the the fireplace starting to re-arrange into the image of a wizard. Hermione mustered enough anxiety to wonder if her naked body was visible atop the desk before steady hands pulled her off and dragged her efficiently across the room.

He was dragging her towards the fireplace. He was going to display her to this stranger.

Legs like jelly, she couldn’t plant her feet but she squirmed enough to give him trouble carrying her. He hissed in pain when her foot met his shin and the arms around her clamped her tighter. “Strike three, pet.”

He dragged her squirming form to the wingback armchair beside the fireplace just as the wizard fully formed in the sunken hearth. Malfoy urged her behind the chair, set her on her feet and pinned her to it’s winged back with the full length of his heated body.

“Oi, Malfoy, where are you? It’s damned dark in here.”

Hermione felt his cock dig into her lower back even as her legs threatened to give out. Malfoy’s voice was casual as he responded. “Flint. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

The man in the coals squinted and Hermione realised that he couldn’t see them, their corner armchair was concealed by the depth of the fireplace itself. She almost wilted in relief except that Malfoy was holding her, pinning her hands to the top of the armchair back with his own.

“Can’t an old Quidditch captain check on his most valued seeker.”

Malfoy snorted behind her. His hands released hers, reaching between them…Hermione realised he was unbuttoning his shirt, the muscles in his chest stretching as he tugged it off his shoulders. The fabric of his trousers brushed her legs as they fell and he kicked them away.

She drew breath to protest as an arm drew around her waist and angled her pelvis. A hand clamped around her mouth just as Malfoy slammed into her pussy. A muffled scream echoed in her ears. She was too damned sensitive. Merlin damn it, he was too big, stretching her too much, she couldn’t stretch anymore, not after what his wand did to her only minutes before.

“Malfoy, you there? Where the hell are you, mate? Can’t see a damned thing right now.” Flint’s coal likeness groused.

Casual as can be, Malfoy drilled his hips more snugly against her arse, forcing his cock deeper until Hermione was forced to angle her hips more to take him, whimpering against his hand. “Is this matter urgent or can we table it for another time, Flint?”

_Please, please table it for another time._ Hermione’s thoughts begged.

“Well. Guess we could discuss it over drinks at The Forest. I’ll Owl you an invite.”

Malfoy drew his cock out and Hermione experienced a mix of relief and sudden aching emptiness. He instantly slammed back into her, make the nerves in her pussy scream in protest. He drew back again and Hermione clawed at the chair for support before his cock forced her open again. The armchair screeched forward a few inches, scratching the hardwood beneath it. Her scream was guttural and echoed in her chest.

“What the hell? What was that noise, what the hell are you doing Malfoy?” Flint’s head swung wildly in the flames, surveying the empty surrounds of the section of the study he could observe.

“Rearranging the furniture.” Was Malfoy’s reply. He was so cool and collected, Hermione was sure that butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

Flint grunted just as Malfoy thrust again. The chair’s screech covered her own as the burn in her pussy became unbearable. The pleasure and pain mixed like an unholy dichotomy and she found herself pushing back, addicted to the hunger which lashed her. “Whatever. I’ll Owl you. Merlin, exile is sending you bonkers.”

The flames gutted for a moment as the wizard’s image disappeared. As the fire roared back to life at it’s previous intensity, Malfoy pushed her off his cock, lifting her and circled around to the rug before the fireplace where just seconds before, Marcus Flint had squinted into the darkness.

“You nearly got us caught, pet. I do wonder if that was intentional.” He dropped them both onto the warmed rug covered floor. “Did you want Marcus to…”

Hermione slammed her lips into his, her tongue instantly invading his mouth, curled around his and sucked at him like it was his cock. She was burning and overstimulated and she couldn’t stop even if Flint returned. Her pussy ached it was so empty; she didn’t know what to do – it hurt when she was empty, it hurt when she was not – she sought the lesser of two evils. She rubbed her nipples against the wiry blond hair of his chest even as she used her momentum and his surprise to knock him onto his back. She straddled him, consequences be damned, and planted her pussy straight onto his cock which lay frustratingly flush to his abdomen. She pinned his wrists and squirmed, increasingly distressed when she couldn’t catch the tip to slip it inside her.

Malfoy pulled his lips away with rumbling groan. “Fuck.” His hips thrust up, dislodging her. “Fuck, woman.”

Forfeiting her grip on his wrists, Hermione frantically reached down, grasped his cock and tilted it up. She was so swollen, she needed to forcefully tuck the head into her pussy before letting go and allowing herself to sink down to the hilt. She screamed when he bottomed out. “Oh god. Oh god. It hurts. It’s so good.” She panted as she sought his lips again.

“Granger, fuck. Granger…” He was trying to lift her off him. Hermione bit his lip hard enough to draw blood and slammed herself back down. The walls of her pussy clenched and held him, fluttering until the hands that held her hips lifted her again only to slam her back onto his own thrusting hips.

For leverage, Hermione sat herself upright, slamming her tender pussy wildly onto his cock until her thighs burned with the effort. She needed it so badly, the burn that was pain but not pain, pleasure but too much to be pleasure. She chased it relentlessly, as she rocked atop him, whimpering and grinding down until he was relentlessly trying to meet her halfway.

“Fuck, woman. You are going to kill me.” He pushed her off him and Hermione caught a brief glimpse of his angry, distended cock before she was flipped onto all fours. A firm hand between her shoulder blades forced her forward as his hard cock forced her abused pussy to part for him again. He bottomed out deep inside her, his hand pinched her swollen clit, rubbing and worrying it as he drew back to thrust again. She was so slick with arousal she couldn’t stop the rough invasion. She wouldn’t if she could. There was that mounting pressure again in the base of her spine, the sensation that she chased every time she saw him.

His fingers parted, slipped around the swollen folds of her pussy which cradled his invading cock. She watched as he squeezed, pushing everything together, the apex of his fingers pressing against her clit. Too much…she realised belatedly. To much pressure. Too much friction. Too much stimulus – visual and physical. It was scaring her, she realised, as her heart pounded, as she tried to pull her body forward and away from his invasion. He followed, pushed his cock so deep she could taste him.

It began then. Like the gentle lapping of a small wave at her feet until it wasn’t, until the pleasure seized her so hard, Hermione felt her joints pop from the tension. Her pussy squeezed and milked him, her body vibrating uncontrollably beneath his as she fought to get away from the overwhelming trigger of this pleasure-pain. He wouldn’t let her. He held her to him while he thrust and grunted and prolonged it until she was a sobbing, screaming mess in his arms, her thighs coated with so much of his cum that they likely ruined the rug beneath them.

They were in the bath when she woke. He was seated behind her in the warmth of the water, his hands massaging scented oil into the cramping muscles of her arm. She sighed and relaxed back against his chest.

“How long was I out?” She could smell the murtlap in the bathwater along with camomile and rose.

He moved onto the other arm. “10 minutes give or take.” She could feel the smile he buried in her hair. “Granger, I’ve never met a woman who does it quite like you. I knew that old adage about the quiet ones being hellcats in the sack would hold true.”

Hermione hummed. “Are you calling me repressed?”

“Yes.” He ran his slick hands up her arms and across her throat, slipping off her chain-link collar and set it aside. He cupped her breasts, thumbing her nipples. “Yes. I am. And I’m your therapist.” His teeth caught the lobe of one ear. “I suggest you come see me more often.”

She stiffened and he felt it. His hands stopped their circuitous route around her nipples. “No. This is our routine. It’s fine as it is.”

He remained stiff behind her for a long moment before his fingers started rubbing again. “Yes. Our routine.” Hermione waited for him to continue but he didn’t. She waited, staring at him warily as they rose from the bath and stepped out. He smiled at her benignly, cool as can be while he towelled her dry, braided her hair and carried her to bed.

She expected him to tuck her in, kiss her on the cheek and leave as was their habit but he didn’t. Instead she frowned as he forced her to shift to one side of the bed and climbed in after her.

“I’m far too knackered to walk the 20 feet to my own bedroom, you don’t mind if we share do you?” He stared at her, all innocence.

Hermione gritted her teeth, wondering what he was up to. “Not at all. It is you house, after all.”

He gave her another passive smile. “How generous of you. Allow me to repay you kindness with a gift.” Hermione watched suspiciously as he reached into the beside drawer and retrieved a box. He lifted the lid for her.

Hermione reached out and smacked him. “This…don’t you have enough of these already?” She stared the white stone phallus. “How many of these do you need to own?”

“Now, now, Granger. I special ordered this from a wonderfully intrepid woman in Mongolia.”

“Why does a dildo need a special order?” She reached for it and took it from it’s box. The stone was cool in her hands and after a moment, she realised that it didn’t warm to her touch, not at all.

“It’s white dragon jade. It always remains at 10 degrees below body temperature no matter what you subject it to. Quite rare.”

Hermione met his gaze sceptically. “And you had it carved into a penis.”

His smile curved into a smirk. “Allow me.” He snatched it from her hands and pressed it to her lips. “Lick.”

She stared but gave it tentative lick. “Come on Granger, it’s not poisoned. Pretend it’s my cock covered in honey.”

Hermione glared but sucked the jade into her lips, giving it a few long pointed licks while he watched. She perversely enjoyed how quickly his pupils dilated, black swallowing silver in an instant. She was still distracted by his expression when he hooked an arm under her knee and flipped her onto her back, settling his body between her thighs.  
  


“Don’t you dare, Malfoy! I’m still far too sore and –” Hermione gasped as he slid the jade phallus straight into her. “What the hell, Malfoy!”

He shifted off her and pulled her squirming form against his chest. “Shh…sleep now. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

She tried to twist out of his grasp to free her arms and pull out the ridiculous dildo but he held firm. “Go to sleep, Granger. Just leave it will you, it will help with the swelling.”

Hermione huffed and tried to roll over. He allowed her to turn away from him but no further, settling his semi-hard cock into the groove of her arse. “If you take that thing out, I will consider it an open invitation.”

She huffed again and forced her eyes closed.

It felt like only moments before she was being nudged awake, a hand between her legs slipping the hard intrusion out and giving her a gentle rub when she whimpered. A cold jar of something was put in her hands before she even had a chance to fully open her eyes.

Bright light pierced through her lids as she heard the curtains being tugged open, her sheets pushed back and a hand pushed her onto her back. She whimpered as every sore muscle in her body protested the movement but didn’t fight him when he parted her legs with a hand on her knee.

“There’s my good girl.” Hermione felt a puff of hot breath before his mouth was on her.

She screeched, eyes popping open as she bolted upright. He lifted his blond head with a smirk and pushed her shoulders back onto the bed. “Stay still.” He commanded. But she couldn’t; her thighs quivered with the effort but they wrapped themselves around his head just as he licked a rough, burning path straight across her clit.

“Oh…oh…Merlin.” She clamped her teeth around the knuckles of her left had.

He dislodged her her thighs with a rough push and pulled himself up. Frowning, he retrieved the jar she forgot she was holding and unscrewed the lid to scoop out a generous dollop of clear gel. “When will you learn your lesson about being greedy, pet?” His fingers smeared it across her aroused flesh and pushed in, filling her with his agile fingers just long enough for her to feel the gel warm and settle into her depths. He pulled away too soon for her to enjoy it.

As the soreness below started to abate, Malfoy stood at the side of her bed and wandlessly cleaned his fingers. He waited while she shuffled hesitantly into a seated position before leaning down to plant a gentle kiss to her temple. Hesitant though she was at the intimacy, she allowed him to nuzzle the spot for a moment. “3 strikes, Granger. Get ready.”

Hermione stiffened instantly as the words echoed through her mind. She turned and watched as he straightened and sauntered out of her room, completely naked and completely sure of himself. She cursed beneath her breath as a glint of silver caught her attention, spotting her collar glinting proudly in the sunlight, wrapped around the white jade phallus.

A knock sounded at her door.

She snatched the chain up and buried the stone penis beneath her pillow. “Enter!”

The same house-elf who had met her at the gate yesterday tottered in, hands full with a large tray laden with a hot breakfast. Crookshanks, followed behind, tail twitching as he leapt onto her bed and settled beside her in a small cocoon of sheets.

“Mipsy’s brought you the Prophet, miss, and some coffee and this.” A package wrapped in plain brown paper secured with twine was deposited in her lap. An envelope was tucked on top. Knowing better to ask questions, Hermione thanked the elf and set the package aside for later. She unfolded the prophet and took a sip of her coffee, tearing off small bits of bacon to feed to Crookshanks while she polished off her plate.

She scooted off the bed and took a few tentative steps, relieved when there was no pain before she headed into the adjoining bathroom to start her morning routine. When she returned, Crookshanks was fast asleep on her pillow, the package’s twine wrapped in his paws.

Hermione quickly checked it, noting the chewed and torn exterior wrapping but not deep enough to harm its contents. She tucked her finger in an opening and tore the paper away. Silk spilled into her hands. She tugged the material into her lap and marvelled at the pristine, simple gown. Completely white with a few simple seams to tuck the material in at the waist and in the sleeves.

This was odd. Out of routine for Malfoy. She never received any clothing during her weekends at the castle, even at meals, she often sat his side naked as the elves served them with their eyes averted. Shrugging, she slipped it on, relishing the cool slide of silk over her sensitive skin. She moved to stand before the full length mirror in her bathroom.

“Bastard!” She hissed at her reflection. The white dress resembled a nightgown from the regency period, billowing, long, the silk so thin, it clung to everything as she moved. It was like the shifts the house elves wore but much, much more revealing. She fumed, storming back into her bedroom, snatching up the accompanying letter.

_Meet your Lord at the Folly. 10:00._

Malfoy’s earlier words flashed back to her. 3 strikes. The Folly would be her punishment.

A cool burn settled into her, make her fingers tingle and a cold sweat break on the nape of her neck. The letter shook in her hands as she remembered the only previous time she had been put in the Folly. How, for a week following, she could barely stand for longer than five minutes before her knees started to wobble. In her memories, she could clearly recall the first time Malfoy had shown it to her.

Where most English lords built small Follys in the grounds of their gardens, often resembling ruined roman temples, Malfoy had built his in an immense subterranean space below the castle. It stretched further than her eyes could see from the over-looking gallery. It was a sprawling, crumbling manor house with its own overgrown gardens, a lake and an iron barred fence around it’s circumference. Even the lighting and weather changed like it was in it’s own little atmosphere.

She was snapped from her reverie when Mipsy re-entered her room.

The letter dropped from her nerveless fingers as the elf stared at her shyly, holding out her hand to guide her out. Hermione hesitated, her thoughts whirling in an unidentifiable mess before she grabbed her chain-link collar from the bed and fastened it at her throat. She took Mipsy’s hand, pushing away the combination of dread and excitement as she was led down the corridor until she faced a wall covered in an immense 18th century tapestry. The woman woven into the bottom of a hunting scene smiled gently at Hermione, parting the tapestry until a dark doorway could be seen behind it.

Remembering her last trip there, she let go of the elf’s hand and allowed her body to step forward, starting only a little as the light closed off behind her.

Breath coming in short sharp pants, she felt for the cold stone wall and inched forward until her foot found the first step. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Hermione could make out the faint shadow of the spiral staircase as it wound downwards for what seemed to be an eternity. The air grew cooler until she could feel her breath misting before her and when she took another step, her bare foot met grass.

As if sensing her presence, the room lit and Hermione caught the frightened gasp in her throat as the the gates of the manor house appeared before her. There were vines creeping over the bars, as if reaching towards her, beckoning her to enter. The front door had been left ajar. She could see only darkness beyond as she stepped past the gates. They slammed behind her.

She stared the splintered wood of the door, remembering the last time. Instinct told her to run. Hermione didn’t but she knew, for the sake of self-preservation, she should avoid going in there, at least for now. Instead, she made her way towards the side of the house, shuffling along the edges of the overgrown topiary which stretched above her, blocking out the artificial moonlight which dusted the rest of the garden.

She was turning the corner when tendrils of mist started wrapping its cool form about her. It lit the grounds eerily, obscuring her path forward.

Careful not to stray from her set trail, Hermione shuffled forward. Anxiety settled in the pit of her stomach, a small tendril of fear wrapping itself around her heart. She could feel the hairs on her nape standing on end as her heart sped up, pumping adrenaline through her veins. Having gone dozens of feet without seeing a thing through the mist, Hermione paused and reached out, trying to feel her surrounds.

Her fingers met the rough scratch of branches to her left and suddenly the mist parted, showing her what appeared to be an opening, an entrance to a darkened hedge maze. This hadn’t been here last time, Hermione realised with a start. This was new. She quickly pivoted away with dread, heading back in the direction she came. Nothing good awaited her in there.

She squeaked as she met another wall of vegetation. It rustled at her touch, as if offended by her intrusion and started to stretch towards her, it’s leaves bulging and growing before her eyes until she was forced to retreat. Cold air pierced straight through her gown as she stepped away. Having no choice but to enter the maze, Hermione turned and ran, her bare feet meeting gravel, crunching as the pebbles shifted beneath her.

She took a sharp right turn and gravel gave way to a packed dirt path. The clouds had grown thick overhead, as if threatening rain. The maze fell eerily silent.

“Mal…” She fingered the chain around her neck. “Master?”

There was no reply.

Hermione rubbed her arms as another cold breeze shivered through the maze. “I have been bad, master. I want to apologise to you. Properly. Please let me make it up to you.”

No reply again.

Dread was her permanent companion now. Her mouth dried as she continued down the path, turning yet another corner – a low, angry growl echoed behind her.

Fear and adrenaline spiked. Instinct launched Hermione into a sprint. She gathered up the silk of her skirt and pounded down the path before her. Skidding around a corner, she caught a flash of dark grey fur as the creature hit the maze wall. A furious rumbling bark tore the air.

Not daring to look back, her feet carried her around another turn. The cold air was burning her lungs.

The sound of paws striking the earth had faded and Hermione plunged around another turn, into a grassy clearing. A small fountain glittered before her, water trickling out of an ornamental vase held aloft by a bathing stone woman. Knowing she would get no other opportunities, Hermione ran forward, and stuck her mouth beneath the small stream of water and gulped the cold fluid.

She had just swallowed her third mouthful when she felt it. The weakness. She watched as her left hand seemed to lose hold of the edge of the fountain and fell to her side, listless. Her left leg then buckled beneath her, sending her toppling to the ground with a small scream. She caught herself with her right hand before she hit her head but soon her arm wouldn’t hold her. She collapsed onto the grass, face turned towards the fountain, realising with dread what a foolish mistake she had made.

Hermione willed her body to move, tried to curl a finger or even close her eyelids. Not an inch of her body was willing to obey her. She could feel the rhythmic movements of her chest as her body breathed on instinct, could feel every inch of her front pressed to the cool lawn. Hot breath darted across her neck.

She screamed. Or at least she tried to. No sound came from her mouth. Fear was like a cold fist on her heart. It warred with her logic that Malfoy had likely set this all up, that he would never harm her, no matter how aggressively he could play with her body.

Inhuman teeth clamped her shoulder and Hermione tried desperately to move again. She laid helpless as she felt her body roll, her limbs collapsing bonelessly to her side as she was positioned prone, on her back. As her head lolled, he caught sight of the immense grey wolf which stalked, quite deliberately, into her line of sight. Its lips pealed back in a semblance of a smirk, its grey eyes flashed when she recognised him.

Shoulders rolling back, the wolf threw its head back as if to howl before the fur receded and his form was human once more. Completely bare, erect and panting, he kneeled by her useless body.

Heat flushed through her, burning away the cold fear which had taken up residence in her body. She watched as Malfoy stood and circled her. His hand fisted his cock and pumped until Hermione’s mouth salivated with anticipation. When he knelt again, he was at her feet. He paused with his hands on her ankles before rucking the gown up, past her knees, up her thighs, to pool around her waist. Cold air brushed her between her legs. Hermione would’ve shivered if she could.

“This is ancient Malfoy tradition you know.” He positioned her head so she could look at him directly. “For hundreds of years, when the lord of manor took a shine to one of his pretty little servant girls, he’d set her loose in the maze on the grounds of Malfoy manor and if she played the game well, she became his prized mistress.”

“You, Granger, so impatient, so rash, really didn’t think this through did you?” Hermione wanted to reach out at smack him, knock that arrogant smirk straight off his face. He was an unregistered animagus; he’d nearly scared her to death.

Malfoy ignored the furious look in her eyes, instead turning his attention to her nakedness. He lifted each of her unmoving legs, parting them, stroking a single finger up her slit. Heat burst into her pussy.

“Good girl.” He muttered as he kneeled above her, fingers keeping her labia parted. Hand directing his cock, he eased the tip in, letting her cradle the head.

Hermione wanted to clench her pussy, increase the pressure but found that again, there was no part of her that was willing to obey her commands. Her eyes flicked to his, desperately willing him to push in some more, to fill the aching emptiness.

He paused, meeting her eyes. “I dreamt of this, you know. At Hogwarts. During the Triwizard cup.” He sunk his cock in a little more as if he couldn’t resist the memory. “When they were growing that damned death trap, I used skip divinations to sit in the stands, imagining what would happen if I lured you in there, if I could convince you to lift you skirts for me.”  
  


Her eyes flashed at him and he laughed. “No. I suppose not.” He slid in all the way, letting out a forceful moan at the heat. Hermione was silent but fared no better. Her eyes rolled at the friction and fullness of him inside her. “You were so busy with, Krum. Merlin, I was mad.” He pulled back and shoved in again.

Hermione could feel her cheeks flush. He noticed. “I wanted to fuck you. Ruin you. He wouldn’t want you after that. You’d belong to me then.” His sweat dripped onto her as he began pumping his hips, his pace speeding up until he’d worked himself into a frenzy. The friction, the burn was turning into hot, liquid pleasure inside her but he didn’t touch her, didn’t stimulate her like he usually did, he just drove into her as their eyes held, until a spasm seized him and Hermione watched, her body shocked with unfulfilled lust, as he grunted and filled her with his searing release.

She wanted to cry with disappointment as she watched him heave in breaths and recover from his high. Her fingers actually twitched when he disengaged their bodies, painting a trail of cooling cum on her swollen pussy as his cock softened. “Good, pet.”

Malfoy stumbled unsteadily to his feet and stretched. His long, sinewy body loomed above her as her eyes followed the swinging path of his still half hard cock. “Don’t worry, Pet.” He crouched down to her. “You’ll get plenty of this, today.” He squeezed a drop of cum onto her lips and stood, sauntering away. The hedges merged and closed behind him, leaving her paralysed, her legs open, pussy leaking cum, gown around her waist, vulnerable to every cold breeze which touched her.

It took, what felt like hours, for Hermione to gain enough strength in her limbs to sit up. She glanced down at the torn shoulder of the gown the the gathered folds of material now pooling around her thighs, then turned to glare at the fountain. Damn it.

It took her three tries to stand and as her previous path had closed with Malfoy’s retreat, she had no choice but to stumble onto the forward path. His cum was drying on her thighs and she was still sticky and aching from her lost orgasm, it made her lose her footing more than once, sending her crashing to her knees the final time, tearing the knee her gown.

“My, my, what a mess you’ve made of yourself.” His voice suddenly appeared in her ear.

Hermione jerked around, hands and eyes meeting thin air as she tried to push him away.

“Let me help you.” He growled into her other ear.

Hermione lost her balance as rough hands shoved her forward onto all fours. The cold instantly swept across her back as she felt her gown tear under his hands. His hot body came on top of hers before she could get out a scream, hard, unyielding cock thrust into her pussy with no preparation.

He pumped wildly, mercilessly as she keened under him. He locked his teeth around the juncture of her shoulder, steely arms clamped around her hips to stop her movements, towards him or away. Tears trailed down her cheeks, she needed to come, damn him.

Hermione knew what he was doing. Though he drove her higher and higher until the air felt too thin to breath, he was deliberately avoiding her clit. He wouldn’t touch her nipples. He wouldn’t angle his cock in the way she knew he could and send her into oblivion. The burning inside her pussy was hellfire.

He came with a sharp moan, punctuating his orgasm with a thrust hard enough to push her face into the dirt before her. Hot cum filled her again, splashing against her tender flesh, adding to the burn inside.

He was gone in an instant, no sound, no farewell, as if he’d never been there. But there was his cum, sliding out of her, cooling on her thighs.

Hermione lifted her sore body up. She cursed him beneath her breath as she removed the ruined material of her gown, eyeing the the split in the back. She turned it shrugged it back on, wearing it as a cloak instead. She needed some cover from cold wind. She pulled it tight across her breasts as she moved forward, her old path again, sealed off when he left. He was corralling her towards something though at that moment she couldn’t care less. She was going to hex his balls off when she got out of here.

Checking periodically over her shoulder, Hermione followed the course of the maze. It allowed her no second choices, giving her a left turn then a right and then a straight stretch of empty pathway which then turned left once more. She was becoming disorientated and disheartened. Surely he’d left her here alone for hours now. She was contemplating calling for him when the maze suddenly opened up, leading her into a small clearing by the lake.

Even though logically, Hermione knew it was still day time in the real world, the night scene was convincing. The artificial moon glinted off the surface of the lake, the waters still and eerily lighting the temple structure built beside it. It must’ve been intended to be Greco-roman in style, though whoever built it clearly had no experience with architectural history.

Hermione groaned. This was a clear set up if ever she saw one. No one with any shred of imagination could’ve thought of anything less original. What was this? Was this Malfoy’s sacrificial virgin fantasy?

As if in answer to her question, the sconces flared to life in the entryway to the temple, as if inviting Hermione to come and shelter from the cold. Rolling her eyes, she figured she likely had no alternative and she may as well try and enjoy this.

It took her only seconds to mount the stairs of the temple, walk through the cold marble corridors and arrive in the central room of worship. Its floor was sunken, steps leading down to, surprise, surprise, a large stone alter. It was hewn from rough grey stone, in sharp contrast to the otherwise opulent interior. Its surface was pitted with age and at its centre, there was a carved indent.

Hermione was puzzling over it when the sound of grinding stone alerted her to movement. Moonlight began the flood the room, sconces gutted and Hermione’s eyes focused sharply on the object floating above the alter.

Her wand!

“What in the name of Merlin?” Her fingers itched to reach for it but after the past few hours, Hermione could smell the trap from a mile away. She contemplated the consequences of her actions, she was here to play his game after all and however cruel he could be, he never failed to reward her obedience.

Her body tingled with the thought of that reward. Arousal swept through her as she remembered just how generous with pleasure he could be.

She reached for it.

“Good, pet.” She heard an instant before a tug at her navel pulled her away. She landed in a dark room and screamed when a hot body slammed into hers. Her wand dropped and rolled away.

Hands clamped her wrists behind her back holding her immobile.

“There, there, pet. You’re in good hands. You know your master knows what’s best for you, right?”

Hermione subsided instantly, going limp in his hold and allowing him to carry her body away. She recognised her surroundings. They were in the manor house she’d avoided earlier. Avoided for good reason. A whimper broke through her lips.

“You need to learn you lesson, pet. You’re just so forgetful sometimes, I wonder how many times I will have to teach you to be obedient to your master.” His lips wandered up her neck.

“I will obey you, master. Please, mercy.”

He smiled against her skin. “I’m only doing what’s best for you.” He ripped the gown off her.

Hermione felt herself being set down and pushed back. She knew what was coming, saw the ominous shadows in the corners of the long room. Her eyes turned back to Malfoy, begging to be spared. He responded by raising her right wrist into the leather manacle hanging from the ceiling. A similar band fastened around her upper arm. The left arm followed. Several more leather manacles went around her ankles, knees then thighs and finally, the thick leather band cinched around her waist.

Sweating and dizzy, she watched as he retrieved his wand from his pocket and flicked it. With a sudden jerk, Hermione felt her body being lifted into the air, her legs going wide, bent at the knees to allow her hips to open further. She slowly tilted back, blood rushing to pound in her ears. She heard him pace around her, stopping when he stood between her thighs.

“Bad, pet.” He tsked. “You lost all that seed. Do you know how precious pureblood seed is? You should have been grateful for even a drop.”

“I’m sorry master.” Hermione panted, trying to arch up to see him. His footsteps were moving away and she could see him pulling the covers off a mounted display cabinet to her right. Excitement flushed through her when the lights illuminated all the instruments within.

He chose the riding crop with a thick loop at the end. He walked past her head, blatantly twirling it between his fingers to show it off before stepping back between her thighs. A sharp whistle cut the air moments before the strike landed on her pussy.

Hermione jerked in her restraints, screaming. “Fuck.”

He landed another strike. “Oh god.”

Third strike. Fourth. Fifth strike sounded wet, the leather loop slipping through her folds on the downstroke.

Malfoy laughed. “My dirty little pet. This is meant to be punishment, not reward. You can’t resist can you?”

Sixth strike burned even worse. Seventh nearly blanked Hermione’s mind completely. “Hold it.” Came the command through her blurry thoughts. “Hold it back or else.”

Her mind flashed back to the night before. No more stolen orgasms today. She nodded and clamped down on the the pressure. Her thighs quivered from the tension, unable to close or move apart any further.

Eighth strike. Ninth strike, Hermione grunted. Tenth strike. “Urrgghhh…” She was going to come, her pussy pulsing already, quivering around nothing, so unsatisfying.

“I said no.”

Hermione panted and whimpered, twisting as much as she could in her bindings, just a little more and she wouldn’t be able to hold on.

There was a clatter as Malfoy dropped the crop on a nearby table. “You really can’t help yourself can you? So damned Greedy. No control at all.” She shook her head vehemently. “Just watching you makes a lie of your words Granger. Looks like I need to dose you again.”

Hermione’s mind whirled back to the last time he gave her that potion. The pain. The…the end. She began fighting her bonds, panting, begging. “I don’t want it…I don’t need it. I swear that I don’t. I’m your good pet, master, I really am. Besides, you like it when I come, don’t you, you like me squeezing your cock when I come, master?”

“I do pet. I really do. But this isn’t about your pleasure or mine. It’s about you learning your lesson properly.”

He eyed her carefully as he returned to stand in her line of sight, two potions in hand. She recognised the second one also. “No! No! Please, Merlin, no!”

Malfoy stepped back. “What’s you safeword?”

Hermione eyed him and clamped her lips shut. Wanker.

“Good girl. Open up…ah, there’s my good girl.” She swallowed the bitter potion, trying not to gag as the viscous stuff wound its way into her stomach and settled there like a leaden weight. She waited while Malfoy carefully stripped and downed the other vial in his hand. Shaking, he put the vial down and as he turned to walk back towards her, Hermione watched his cock harden and turn an angry shade of red, veins popping.

“Let’s begin, shall we.”

The restraints on her arms tilted her upright until her body was horizontal and level. At this angle, she could now easily see him, flushed, sweating, palming his cock which leaked precum like it was about to burst. He took a step forward and impaled her. Hermione felt the pleasure explode behind her eyes, her mouth opened in a scream as he used the swinging momentum of her suspended bindings to slide her relentlessly on and off his cock. It took her only seconds to climb to the burning peak, ready to plunge into the inferno…so close…so close…and it stopped. The pressure remained but the pleasure receded even as Malfoy let out a feral growl and pumped her full of cum.

“No…” She whimpered. “Damn you.”

The hard cock inside her didn’t soften. “Yes, you are going to damn me.” He started thrusting again, driving her back towards the peak. She knew, knew it would happen again…it had happened so many times before. She climbed more quickly this time, pussy quivering and leaking with their combined fluids. His thumb found her clit unerringly. “Fuck, you bastard.”

He came with a hard thrust, clamping her pussy to his cock with his hands around her thighs. Her orgasm instantly dissipated.

Pulling out he, he adjusted her again, rearranging her on her side, one thigh bent, the other outstretched to allow him between her legs. She glimpsed his angry, erect cock for a second before he was pushing in again.

Hermione let out a long tortured moan. Everything was aching and tingling. Her head lolled and swung as he pulled her battered pussy onto his cock time and again. When he was done with her in that position, he rolled her to front, letting the band at her waist hold her while he thrust.

He took her out of the harness and fucked her into a table enough times to bruise her, he pulled her atop him in a chair and made her ride him, chasing an orgasm that eluded her time and again while he came and came until there was cum dripping on the floor and trailing across her ankles.

Her mind was almost in complete shut down as he finally laid her on the bed. Her body screamed with the pleasure cheated from her, strung tight as a humming wire, liable to snap at the smallest provocation. He smiled at her then and tipped a golden potion into her mouth. Hermione swallowed greedily and when it eased the knot inside her, she climbed into his arms and put his cock back inside her, rocking and rocking until dozens of lost orgasms swept her up it their grasp and exploded inside her. The inferno threatened her grasp on reality as every muscle fibre inside her seemed to seize, uncoordinated in their actions, only knowing how to tighten and not let go.

Hermione’s consciousness clung to the grey eyes above her. They stared at her unblinking even as hot cum washed inside her again, triggering off more almost painful flutters. Though she was exhausted, her body was too tense to move, her mind too imprinted with the intensity of what her body was trying to do.

He had to ease her down, though to her relief, he didn’t try to pull away.

“Still with me, pet?”

Hermione managed a nod.

“Good. Because I want to talk to you about next month…”

She tried to meet his gaze, tried to hear his words but sleep claimed her when she next tried to blink.

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it to the end of this epic, well done. I'm sure I have ruined a little piece of your mind for life. 
> 
> I will likely turn this into a series though I don't think my brain can do this again for some time yet.


End file.
